


A Farewell to Arms

by orphan_account



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: And Now For Something Completely Different, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Crying, Emotions, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Widowed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 11:31:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17344490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Blanca mourns his wife Natasha, and reflects on how she changed him and impacted his life.Written for Banana Fish Angst Week. Prompt: Tears





	A Farewell to Arms

**Author's Note:**

> Trying a slightly different writing style? I'm outta ideas lol.
> 
> Title is from the Hemingway book that was shown in ep 23 when Blanca was talking to Yut Lung because I couldn't think of anything else.

He only stopped crying when he'd used up all his tears. His body still cried, his soul still cried, but he no longer wept. It was as if he'd been shot multiple times in the heart.

He hadn't expected to lose her, not like this. He had his theories. But he knew it would be useless voicing them. She would've stopped him from saying anything if she was still there.

 

Their apartment felt lonely. He'd always found it small, but it seemed bigger now. The walk from their room -- his room -- to the kitchen felt longer. Meals took longer to prepare and longer to eat. The days themselves each felt like an eternity.

He couldn't bring himself to dispose of her things. Her clothes were still hung up in their wardrobe. The scented candles she liked still sat atop the benches and bookcases. One night, he lit them. It felt like she was home again. That she was humming to herself in another room, and that she'd come around the corner and tell him to stop reading on the sofa and go to bed, making a comment about him being engrossed in Hemingway. But she never came to get him, so he snuffed out the candles and never relit them.

Their bed felt larger. Every night, they'd snuggle up together to try and keep as warm as they could, especially in the harsh winters, as their heating was less than adequate. Sometimes, he'd try to remember how she'd touched him, and how he'd touched her, but it made the pains of missing her too great to bear, so he stopped. His mind couldn't fully picture her exquisite beauty and her gentleness, anyway.

Whenever he built up enough tears again, they were instantly shed. Nothing seemed to be able to help. He had nobody to talk to about her, she was the only one he'd ever confined in. She knew more about him than anyone else in the world. She probably knew more about him than he did himself.

He began wearing one of her scarves when he went out. It still vaguely smelt of her. It reminded him of her warmth. Yet he was still cold. It was if he was frozen to his very core, and not even the fires of his hatred could thaw him.

He'd fought for her. He'd given up everything for her. She'd shown him the world, and he could never repay her. Even if he killed those who'd caused her death, it wouldn't bring her back. He knew that. And he knew she wouldn't want him to kill anyone -- especially not for her.

 

It was because of her that he was crying. If he hadn't met her, he wouldn't have known how to cry. Every emotion he knew had been something she'd shown him: happiness, joy, love... and sadness, anger and hatred. Regret. Remorse. Grief.

Maybe it would've been easier if he'd never known her. If he'd never known these emotions. But if he'd never met her, what would he be? Still an empty shell. Still licking the government's shoes and killing innocent people. Never having learnt what it was like to love and to lose that love.

But if he'd never met her, she would still be alive. She would still be happy, and would probably have a family. If he'd never disobeyed the government to be with her, they wouldn't have targeted her.

She'd always said that she was okay with the risk. That she was happy so long as they were together. But now that they weren't together... If she still felt anything, what would she feel? Would she be sad that they were separated?

...Would she, too, be crying, wherever she was?

 

The only time he'd seen her cry was at their wedding. It had been in small church, and they'd been married as secretly as possible. She'd said she was crying because of how happy she was, although he didn't quite understand what she'd meant by that. Happy tears were, in theory, different to sad tears. Maybe she'd be crying sad tears now, just like he was. The tears that she had taught him how to cry.

If he ever had the chance to meet her again, would she cry tears of joy at being reunited? Of course, there would be no chance of that happening. Her soul was resting in its rightful place in Heaven. He knew his soul, the soul she'd breathed life into, would be forbidden from entering that sacred garden. He had too much blood on his hands. He'd never be forgiven for the crimes he'd committed.

Then again, she'd forgiven him. She'd known what he'd done, and she didn't care. She'd said she loved him regardless. She really was beautiful through and through, he thought, and he was unworthy of being loved by someone so kind.

He wasn't going to try to find out if he'd be able to see her again. She would've wanted him to keep going. Would've wanted him to keep being kind and loving, just as she had taught him to be.

 

He decided to get away from it all. The empty apartment, the cold winters, the leering eyes of the government. He vowed never to hurt anyone ever again as he handed his guns over. He hoped he'd never have to fire another gun in his life. The world would be a better place without those machines, he thought. He didn't want to contribute to the senseless violence any longer.

Before he left, he visited her grave. It was odd seeing her name there. He hadn't visited it since her funeral, as he had been scared to face her again. But he wanted to talk to her, even if she probably couldn't see or hear him.

"I miss you, Natasha, my love," he whispered. The tears started flowing again as he spoke her name. "Will you come and join me in the Caribbean once more? We can stay longer this time, maybe go skydiving like you'd wanted to..."

They'd spent their honeymoon on a small Caribbean island. It was the exact opposite of their icy home countries, full of heat and sunshine. She'd giggled as she'd played in the sea, laughed as they'd both been knocked over by a rogue wave. They'd had a wonderful time there, so he'd decided he wanted to bask in that paradise once again. Perhaps it would be able to thaw him, make him feel happiness again. Even if she could never be replaced, he wouldn't have to live in darkness any longer.

She would always be with him, even if not physically, he told himself. It wasn't really reassuring, but it made him stop crying sometimes.

 

The Caribbean was welcoming, and slowly he let warmth inside him again.

 

Maybe one day, he'd be able to teach somebody else the emotions he'd learnt. Teach someone how important love was. And hope that they wouldn't have to know what it was like to lose it, as he had.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if Blanca went to the Caribbean before he got involved with Golzine but fuck it lol.


End file.
